


Vigilantes

by madamebomb



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Zuki
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-06 01:10:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6731701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madamebomb/pseuds/madamebomb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Girls are going missing in Ba Sing Se. Their only hope are two masked vigilantes, both with a score to settle. They may save the day…if they don’t kill each other first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Her feet pounded on the dirty pavement, splashing through puddles and dislodging piles of trash as she frantically ran down the alley, her hair streaming behind her like a black banner.

“Help me! Someone help me!” she panted as the footsteps behind her got closer and closer. Fear stabbed at her and she turned in place, frantically looking for a weapon to defend herself.

Too late.

Hands caught her by her hair, hauling her around and shoving her into the stone wall hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs.

“Give me your purse!” a rough male voice snarled as she was spun around to face her attacker. She stared up at his face. He was wearing a dark mask and the only thing visible were his eyes—mean eyes that had a gleam of malice in them. Eyes that told her everything she needed to know. He would hurt her and enjoy it. “DO IT NOW!”

A switchblade appeared in his right hand and he shoved it against her throat.

“Please don't kill me!”

“Shut up,” he sneered, snatching her purse from her hands and backing up. With one hand he dumped her belongings out in the alley, kicked everything aside and then snatched the money out of her wallet. He tossed the empty wallet back at her face.

It hit her and she flinched, cringing before him as he shoved her money into his pocket.

“Is that all you've got?” he barked.

“Yes...I'm... I'm just a waitress, I don't--”

“I like that necklace. I'll take that,” he said, reaching forward and snatching up her mother's locket. The chain broke with a hard yank. She let out a sob.

“Please!”

“I told you to shut your fucking mouth!” he said, crowding her now. The knife was back at her throat. “I should slit your throat for running in the first place!”

Behind his shoulder, she caught sight of a shadow moving, silently stalking through the darkened corners of the alley. At first she thought she was imagining it, but then she saw the flash of a white face, and the determination sitting in the corner of the stranger's red lips.

She braced herself, as the stranger slid silently back into the shadows.

“Is that what you want? Is that what you want me to do, huh?” her attacker said, his foul breath against her face now. He was too close. Her whole body shuddered in revulsion.

The next moment, he was gone. Jerked away from her with a hard yank so sudden that she gasped in disbelief. She watched as he landed in a pile of garbage across the alley with a muffled shout of pain.

She looked around for his assailant, but only spotted the flitting shadow of something moving in the darkness on the edge of her vision.

“What the fuck?” the mugger exclaimed, climbing out of the trash, only to have the stranger come at him from the side, rebound off of the side of the building in a jumping spin and punch him across the face. He went down on the rough pavement, skinning open his chin as he landed. He was up and spitting mad, as angry as a cat in bathwater. He waved the switchblade in his hand. “Who's there?”

The girl knew that she should be running, doing something, but she was frozen with fear.

“You get off on attacking women, don't you?” a soft voice asked from the darkness. “This is the fourth mugging you've done in this alley. You hurt the last girl. She ended up in the hospital.”

He snarled something unintelligible and then narrowed his eyes. “She had it coming. Bitch wouldn't stop crying.”

“I don't like that word,” the stranger said in a cold, menacing tone that made her hair stand on end. “And I don't like men like you, men who get off on hurting women. You're not going to hurt anyone else, ever again. Not after tonight.”

“What, you gonna stop me? You're too much of a coward to face me! I'm not afraid of you!” he snapped, snatching off his mask and tossing it down. She saw the roughness of his jawline, the mean set of his wide mouth.

The girl jumped, the scream she'd almost let loose strangling in her throat as the stranger dropped down in front of her in a crouch. The mugger jumped too, but recovered, baring his teeth and his knife.

Slowly, as graceful as a shadow, the stranger stood, shaking back chin-length brown hair. Dressed from head to toe in dark green and brown leather, there was no doubt that the stranger was a woman. She had two golden fans in each hand, and a sword strapped to her back. As she turned her face, the girl saw that that the strange woman's face was painted white, with red lips, and red-rimmed eyes.

The woman smiled at her gently and then said, “Run.”

But she couldn't move. Fear glued her feet to the spot.

“You,” the mugger said, “Are you the bitch they're talking about in the papers?”

“I don't like that word,” the stranger repeated, her voice colder than before.

“What are you going to do about it, _bitch?”_ he snarled and then charged her like an enraged bull.

The stranger didn't flinch, didn't run. She ducked the wild swing of his knife, brought her fan around and sliced it across his exposed face, opening a cut that instantly started bleeding. That seemed to anger him even more and he went for her again, obviously trying to grab her and use his superior size to his advantage.

She didn't give him the chance.

Spinning, she jammed her elbow back into his chest, pushing him back a step. She followed with a solid strike to his chin with the heel of his palm. It snapped his head back with a whipcrack, and he fell to the ground in an unconscious heap at her feet.

The strange woman slowly eased out of her defense stance and stood over him for a long moment, demurely waving the fan in her face. “ _That's_ what I'm going to do about it.”

The girl pushed herself away from the alley wall, shaking like a leaf now. “Is he... Did you kill him?”

“No, he's just unconscious. I'll tie him up until the police arrive. They'll need you to make a statement. Are you prepared for that?”

“I... Yes, I...” she stumbled.

“Did he hurt you?”

“No, he just scared me,” she said, feeling tears in her eyes, because she knew that the mugger had intended on doing more than robbing her. The woman crouched over the mugger, quickly tying up his arms and legs. Then she stood, facing her. “Who are you?”

The woman smiled softly and then she seemed to melt into the shadows again, leaving the girl standing there in the alley, the sounds of sirens echoing through the streets of Ba Sing Se, coming closer and closer by the minute.

Even though she was alone in the alley with her attacker, somehow she knew she didn't have to be scared anymore. She knew that the woman with the painted face was still watching over her, keeping her safe.

“Thank you,” she whispered to the night.

* * *

He slipped silently from rooftop to rooftop, grabbing hold of ladders and gutters as he went, swinging himself from one precarious perch after another, his muscles straining, blood singing. His breath was moist on the inside of the mask strapped to his face, but he breathed shallowly, reveling in the freedom of running, of chasing shadows across the rooftops of Ba Sing Se.

Sirens broke apart the night with a loud wail and he turned in their direction, chasing their red and blue beacons through the dirty, neon-encrusted streets. He leaped from one roof to the next, rolling with the landing and coming up on his feet in the next instant.

Faster and faster he ran, slowing only when the sirens careened to stop at the entrance to an alley. He slowed to a crawl, skidding to a halt at the edge of the building that looked down into the alley. Keeping well back in the shadows, he peered through the eyes of his mask, staring at the scene below him.

Officers were crouched over a man lying on the garbage-strewn pavement. He was bound and unconscious. A young woman was standing to the side, crying slightly as a police officer asked her questions in a reassuring tone.

“How did you subdue him?”

“I didn't! It was... Someone else. A woman. I didn't see her face. She was wearing face paint.”

His eyebrow lifted beneath the mask as he sat back on his heels. His gaze flicked upward, scanning the rooftops around him in narrow-eyed suspicion. What he saw made his heart leap for a moment, as a lithe shadow separated itself from the side of a building. He saw a flash of her painted face, for just a moment, and then she was gone, taking off across the rooftops.

It was in him to follow, to give chase to the mysterious woman who had suddenly appeared on his streets the past few weeks. He'd been patrolling this city for months now, watching over its citizens, making himself a nuisance to the Triads. The newspapers had been calling him The Blue Spirit.

He liked the name, and he liked the fear his reputation brought with him.

Clearly that reputation was not enough to scare this woman though. Whoever she was, he had a feeling they'd meet sooner or later. He just hoped she didn't get in his way.

He smiled beneath his mask and took off into the darkness.

He had a city to protect.

 


	2. Part One

The phone rang, the trill sound piercing through the sleepy haze like a knife blade. Zuko started awake, tumbling out of half-remembered dreams of bare-knuckled fists and back alley brawls. Trying to orient himself, his fingers fumbling for the cell phone lost in his covers. He finally found it, hit the button without looking and shoved it against his ear.

“Hello?” he mumbled through a dry throat and a split lip.

“Zuko! Time to wake up, nephew! It's nearly noon!” his Uncle Iroh said loudly into his ear. He snorted, pushing his scarred face into the pillows as sunlight made its unwelcome intrusion. Just like his uncle's voice though, he knew he couldn't shut it out.

Groaning, he turned his head and squinted in the sunlight, glancing at the alarm clock on his bedside table. It was well past noon and he was late for his shift down in his uncle's tea shop.

“I'm coming, Uncle! Give me a moment!”

“We have customers!”

“I know... I... I'm coming!” he said as he hung up. He rubbed the last of the gritty sleep from his eyes and as he did, his hand brushed the tender flesh of his cheek and he winced again. Extracting himself from the tangle of his blankets was harder than it looked, and he stumbled a little when he got up and headed toward the bathroom.

One glance in the mirror made him blanch. Half of his face was bruised a nasty shade of green and purple, completely at odds with the red, mottled scar overtaking the left side of his face. He stared at the scar for a moment, feeling a bitter kind of acceptance at the sight of it.

He glanced down at his muscular torso, noting the scrapes and bruises there, as well as the scabs on his knuckles. At least he could hide those. The bruise on his face was going to get questioned.

Shaking his shaggy head, he turned on the taps and splashed cold water across his face to help wake him up some more. After a quick brush of his teeth and a hand run haphazardly through his hair, he slung on the first thing that didn't look dirty, shoved his feet into his shoes and charged down two flights of stairs and into the back room of the tea shop.

He knew without glancing into the shop that the place was busy. It was always busy around opening time. The Jasmine Dragon was a popular place in the neighborhood.

Which meant it was a target.

Zuko's jaw tightened as he grabbed his apron and tied it on, only to find a tray being thrust at him by his stout Uncle Iroh, who looked slightly harried, busy boiling water and baking tea cakes to compliment his famous blends.

“Table three! They have been waiting for too long now!”

“Right, sorry,” he mumbled, grasping the tray. His uncle turned away, though Zuko saw the way the man had clocked the bruise on his face, and the disapproval that had followed. He knew that he was once again going to have to listen to a lecture about his nighttime activities. Or at least about his Uncle's suspicions about his nighttime activities.

Bracing himself for both a lecture, and paying customers, Zuko walked through the kitchen door and into the quiet little tea shop. Table three was a group of older women, regulars he knew well. All of them exclaimed over the tea, and once they saw his face, they started asking questions in a concerned rush.

“It's nothing. Ran into a door,” he said, feeling heat in the tips of his ears. He poured their tea, and then quickly retreated before they could ask him more questions. He bussed a table that had emptied while he'd waited on the women and brought the dirty cups back into the kitchen, where he tipped them into the sink.

“How did you get the bruises, Zuko?” Iroh asked as Zuko grabbed a fresh set of cups and set them on the tray. He glanced up at his uncle, who was watching him with a worried expression on his face.

“It's nothing,” he repeated.

“It's not nothing. You sleep all day, you're late for work, you're out all night doing who knows what, and you come home with bruises. What have you been doing, Zuko?” Iroh insisted.

Zuko sighed, pinching off a sprig of mint leaves from the plant in the window. He tossed the leaves into his mouth, chewing as much for something to do as out of hunger. “I'm fine, that's all you need to know, Uncle.”

“And what happens when you're not fine? What happens when your nothing spills over and they follow you home?” Iroh hissed, lowering his voice.

“That's not going to happen,” he said before he could stop himself. He caught himself and then sighed. “Not that anything is happening.”

His uncle raised a wizened eyebrow and then reached for something on the counter behind him. Zuko wasn't surprised when he slammed a newspaper down in front of Zuko. He jabbed a finger at the headline angrily.

“And I suppose _this_ is the nothing you're talking about? This is the nothing that keeps you up at all hours?” Iroh demanded as Zuko picked up the paper. He scanned the headline and the article beneath it, his face a blank mask. “Tell me you're not getting in over your head, Zuko!”

“A masked vigilante has been spotted in the Lower Ring and you think it's me?” Zuko said, forcing a laugh that felt as fake as his lie. He didn't like lying to his uncle, but he'd known it would be necessary at some point. Iroh was too smart to fall for his excuses though, and he'd known it would only be a matter of time before he put the pieces together.

Iroh snatched the paper from him. “They're calling this vigilante the Blue Spirit!”

“Who is?” Zuko asked, lifting a brow.

“The press, I don't know. But now he has a name. Name's have power.”

“Power enough to strike fear into the hearts of the criminals in Ba Sing Se?” he said softly, but loudly enough for his uncle to hear.

“You can't solve the problems of this city by going out and punching everything in the face, Zuko. You're going to get yourself killed. What if they find out what you are? _Who_ you are?”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Zuko said hotly, slamming a sugar bowl down onto the tray. “I just like to go out. I can't sleep at night. You know that.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“Well, maybe I met a girl!”

Iroh's disbelief was downright searing. “If only! You need a girl in your life, Zuko! Someone to distract you from this foolishness! Maybe one who can talk sense into you! It isn't right for a young man of your age not to date!”

Zuko looked up at the ceiling, asking for strength and patience from a higher power that seemed content to ignore his desperate pleas. He and his uncle had had this conversation many times before. Iroh, who enjoyed the company of a bevy of ladies, seemed frustrated by Zuko's apparent lack of interest in the opposite sex.

It wasn't that he wasn't interested—he was. He just didn't know how to talk to women, and whenever he did he just seemed to chase them away. Sometimes he blamed the scar on his face, other times he was sure he was just bad at flirting. It was probably a combination of both.

It didn't matter anyway. What could he offer a woman? He worked in a tea shop frequented by fussy old women, with a studio apartment that's only saving grace was the view of the city from the rusty, rickety fire escape. He had no money, no prospects, and the bad habit of putting on a mask and running around the city looking for trouble. Not to mention his... _complicated_ past.

He wouldn't want to drag a woman into the mess of his life. She'd probably run screaming after one hard look, and he wouldn't blame her.

Still...

“I'll date when I meet the right girl,” he told his uncle. “Until then, get off my back about it.”

“Hmmmph!” his uncle grumped, jabbing at the paper again. “Knowing you, you'd probably bring home a girl like this Warrior they're talking about now!”

Zuko stopped, eyebrows shooting skyward. “What?”

“You haven't heard? The Blue Spirit has competition! A woman has been seen fighting thugs in the Lower Ring. They say she fights with fans, and paints her face.”

Zuko took the paper and scanned the small article his uncle had pointed out. There wasn't much to go on. Just a rumor, and two eyewitnesses that had seen a flash of the woman.

“She's been responsible for four arrests so far,” Iroh said, not-quite-disapprovingly, but certainly in a measured, warning tone.

“Sounds like she's doing good work,” he said, glancing up at his uncle and then tossing the paper down.

“I just hope she doesn't have a family who worries about her too,” Iroh said pointedly. Zuko sighed, grabbed his tray and walked out of the kitchen before his uncle could lecture him some more. He wasn't about to openly admit to what he did all those nights and his uncle knew it.

He spent most of the afternoon serving tea and cakes, and cleaning up between customers, his thoughts lingering on the woman he'd seen the other night running across the rooftops. Who was she, he wondered. Would he run into her again?

It seemed unlikely. Ba Sing Se was a gargantuan city, sprawling out in all directions and choked by layer after layer of impenetrable walls. If he were lucky, this Warrior would keep to herself.

He had to admit he was fascinated though, and he didn't doubt her reasons for taking justice into her own hands. Ba Sing Se's crime rate was as big as the city. The Lower Ring was plagued by theft, murder, rape, drugs, arms dealers and vicious gangs. The Triads in particular had a chokehold on the city.

Zuko's hands tightened on the handle of the mop, anger flooding him as he thought of the Triads. How many poor merchants and shop owners had unwillingly bowed to their tyranny? How many lives had been ruined when the Triad had not received the protection money they'd demanded?

It had to end.

“Zuko? Are you daydreaming? We have another customer!” his uncle called, and he started, turning toward the door. He'd been so long in his thoughts that he hadn't heard the bell over the door chime the woman's arrival; the shop had been empty for the last ten minutes.

The woman had chin-length brown hair, and an athletic build. He recognized her immediately; she usually stopped in every few days for a cup of tea. Sometimes she had friends with her, but usually she came alone. Today she was dressed in work out gear; a pair of tight green yoga pants, a gold tank top with a matching green jacket over top of it, and a pair of running shoes. She had a gym bag in her hands and a distracted expression on her face as she sat down at one of the tables.

Zuko's mouth was inexplicably dry as he propped the mop against the wall and wiped his hands on his apron.

“Welcome to the Jasmine Dragon,” he asked in what he hoped was a normal voice. When the woman looked up at him, he noted, and not for the first time, how blue her eyes were. “Umm...what can I get you?”

The woman looked up at him, clocking the bruise on his face for a moment. Then she smiled at him and pushed her hair behind her ear. “Hi. Uh... I'll have a cup of wild orange oolong, please. And...what's fresh?”

He glanced behind him at the window, where his uncle was busy glazing buns. “Well, we have some strawberry teacakes with chocolate sauce, and I think the glazed buns are fresh out of the oven now.”

“Mmm, I'd love a good hot pair of buns!” she said and he swiveled back around to face her. She seemed to catch herself then, and flushed.

“Don't we all,” he blurted, making her laugh. He glowed a little at the sound of her laughter, pulling a smile for the first time in what felt like weeks.

“Oh boy, that's embarrassing,” she said, hitting herself in the forehead with the menu. “Ummm... Okay, I'll take your buns. THE BUNS! I meant _the_ buns, not _your_ buns! I'm sure your buns are fine! I... That's not what I meant either. I... Kill me now.”

Zuko flushed as he wrote down her order. “I'll uh...be right back with your order, miss.”

He walked back into the kitchen, glancing back over his shoulder to see her put her hand across her red face. She was grinning though, and as he ducked into the kitchen, he saw her glance slyly in his direction.

Almost immediately, his uncle swooped down on him. “She comes in a lot.”

“I guess so,” he said as he reached for the tin of oolong. “I've seen her a few times.”

“She's pretty.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, because he didn't like where he knew the conversation was going.

“She was flirting with you!”

His brow furrowed. “No, she wasn't!”

“She flirts with you every time she comes in! You should ask her out on a date tonight, nephew!”

Zuko put down the tea cup with more force than necessary, tossing his uncle an annoyed look. “Uncle, stop. She just wants a cup of tea, not to have some scarred up freak hit on her because she happened to smile at him once or twice! She's being polite, that's all.”

Iroh was quiet for a moment and then he said softly, “You're not a freak, Zuko. Your scar--”

“I don't want to talk about it,” Zuko said miserably, putting two buns down onto the plate. He put the plate on the tray, grabbed it and walked out of the kitchen, feeling his uncle's disapproval following him like a noxious cloud.

The woman looked up as he walked out of the kitchen door, a smile hitting her lips. At the same time, the door opened with a hard slam and the mad chime of bells. Three men were framed in the doorway, all of them familiar. All of them unwelcome. They walked in as Zuko's temper immediately reached the boiling point. He glared at them as they stood before him, cracking their knuckles menacingly.

“Time to pay the Triad, S _car Face_.”


	3. Part Two

Zuko slung the tray down in front of the woman, and then put himself between her and the gang members. “What are you doing here?”

“You heard me, ugly,” their leader sneered as his larger companions spread out through the shop. “It's time to pony up the Yuans you and that old man owe us for protecting this place.”

Zuko saw his uncle come to the kitchen window, his mouth a hard line beneath his iron-gray beard.

“We don't owe you shit,” Zuko said in a measured voice. “This is our shop and we don't need protection.”

“Sure you do!” the thug said, flashing him a mean smile as he clamped a toothpick between his teeth. “Besides, it's been a week since your last payment and you owe us a cut of your take for the week.”

“We didn't pay you last week!”

“Sure you did! Maybe you outta ask your old man?”

Zuko wheeled to face Iroh, who was standing there with a guilty look on his face. Zuko opened his mouth to say something and then thought better of it. He turned back the thug.

“We're not paying you anymore. Effective immediately. Now get the fuck out,” Zuko said through his teeth, gaze narrowing on the man.

“You hear that, Donghai? That's just poor customer service!” one of the other henchmen said as he grabbed one of the glazed buns from the tray Zuko had put down. He took a big bite and said through his mouthful, “Ain't gotta be so rude!”

“Why don't you just leave!” the woman piped up behind Zuko. He turned around to face her, meeting her gaze. She didn't look scared. She looked angry.

“Maybe you should go?” he said softly, but she shook her head.

“We ain't leavin',” Donghai said with a smirk. “Not until we get paid. And until then...well... We can't guarantee the protection of this place. Can we boys?”

“No, sir.”

“Do it!”

Instantly, Donghai's henchmen started trashing the place, kicking over tables, tossing vases on the floor, smashing chairs and teacups. Zuko moved without thinking, sliding across the floor as he caught hold of one of their big, meaty arms.

His gaze narrowed as the man dropped the teacup in his hands. It shattered on the floor between them.

“You gonna fight me, ugly?”

Zuko answered him with a headbutt, and followed that up with a punch straight to the gut. The thug doubled over and Zuko roundhouse kicked him straight into the wall. He hit and slid down into a heap, but Zuko was already turning, expecting the attack that came at him from behind.

The second henchman was smaller and faster than the other one, and as Zuko blocked strike after strike, he had to admit that the man was a good fighter.

Zuko was better.

He tripped the man up, tangled his arms, and then grappled him to the floor with a bang. He slammed his elbow back into the thug's face as they both hit the floor. Blood gushed immediately and the thug clapped his hand to his face.

The next moment, hands grabbed Zuko by the collar of his shirt, hauling him up off of the floor. Zuko slammed his head backward, but missed the man's face. He tried to get leverage as he was lifted off his feet, but there was none.

“Stop struggling or she gets it!” Donghai called, making Zuko still in his captor's arms. What he saw made his heart stop. Donghai had one arm around the woman and a switchblade to her throat. Her eyes pleaded with him to stop.

“If you hurt her, I swear--”

“Swear what?” Donghai said, pushing his face into her hair. “Ain't nothing you can do about it... This bitch is mine now.”

Anger flashed in the woman's face and she pulled a rough grimace. “I don't like that word.”

“What are you going to do about it, bitch?”

She slammed her head back into his face, grabbed the knife from his hand and turned his wrist so hard Zuko was surprised it didn't snap. The thug cried out as she rammed her elbow down into his arm. Donghai dropped to the floor and the woman snatched the knife out of his hand.

“That's what I'm going to do about it,” she snapped as Donghai scrambled backward, cradling his injured arm.

“That's fucking it, we're gonna burn this fucking place to the ground!” he exclaimed, pointing to his companion, the one whose nose Zuko had bloodied. “Get the fucking gas, Jiyu! And break his fucking neck, Fu! They're gonna find all three of ya dead!”

“You want fire, I'll give you fire!” Zuko growled, biting down on Fu's arm. He cried out and let go of Zuko, who dropped into a stance, gathering his chi. At the same moment, Iroh came out of the kitchen and threw something at Donghai's feet.

“Stop! Zuko, stop!” Iroh shouted, warning in his eyes. “This is everything in the safe, twice what we owe you! Please do not take offense at my nephew. He is young and does not understand. We would be glad to pay you and your bosses to protect us. We will also provide free tea and buns to any of your men that come in. My sincerest apologies!”

Donghai held up his hand to the others, and they stopped in mid-reach for Zuko. The woman was looking mutinous, as if she'd like to hit Donghai again.

“What are you doing, Uncle?”

“Shut up, Zuko,” Iroh snapped at him, his eyes brooking no argument. “You have done enough today!”

Donghai picked up the bag of money and sifted through it. He seemed to think for a moment, as he sucked on one of his rotten teeth. He let a peaceful grin cross his face. “Look, I'm not a bad guy. The Triad provides a valuable service to the community and it would be a shame to see this place burn down to the fucking ground when we could be extractin' money from it every week. We'll take your kind offering, and next week we'll take the same amount, for our pain and sufferin', you understand?”

“Completely,” Iroh said with an edge in his voice.

“We can renegotiate the price after that,” Donghai said, and gestured to his friends, who pushed past Zuko with a bang of their shoulders. The woman backed up a little, as they leered down at her in passing. “You know, you really gotta teach your nephew some manners. He keeps tryin' to play with the big dogs and he's gonna get hurt. Might even get dead.”

“He won't be a problem any longer,” Iroh promised.

“See that he isn't,” Donghai said as he passed the bag of money to Jiyu. He straightened his collar and looked around the shop. He gestured to the destruction with a wave of his hand. “You really gotta clean this place up. It's bad for business.”

“You got what you wanted, now leave,” Zuko snapped as Iroh glared at him.

“You heard him,” the woman said, in just as icy a voice.

Donghai turned his attention on her and the look he shot her was leering, full of bad intentions. It put Zuko's hackles up, and it seemed to do the same to her. “That's my knife.”

“You want it back? Fine,” she said, and threw it at him. It sailed past his face, close enough to shave him, and landed point first in the door frame behind him, where it quivered in place. Donghai jumped, and then sneered at her.

“I'll be seeing _you_ around, sweetheart.”

“Can't wait,” she snapped.

Donghai lifted an eyebrow and then gestured to his friends. “Let's go, boys. The stink of this place is starting to get to me. See you next week, Scar Face.”

The minute they were gone, Zuko lowered his head, feeling impotent rage come over him. “Why did you do that, Uncle? Why did you pay them?”

“They would have killed us, Zuko. You know that as well as I. Remember what happened to the cobbler two streets over?”

“They killed him and his whole family in that fire,” the woman said softly. Iroh looked at her and nodded.

“It is better to be a willow tree and bend to the wind, than to be a mighty oak and break in the storm,” his uncle said grimly. He met Zuko's angry gaze, a sad expression on his lined face. Then he turned away and walked back into the kitchen, leaving Zuko and the woman alone.

He sighed and looked at the mess, feeling sick to his stomach as anger and frustration mounted in him. He bent to pick up the shards of broken china and was surprised when the woman did the same. She smiled shyly at him as she picked up the delicate shards, placing them carefully into her palm.

“I'm sorry you got caught up in all that,” he said after a moment.

“It's okay. You told me to run and I didn't listen. I'm kind of stubborn like that,” she said wryly.

“He didn't hurt you, did he?”

“No. It was so stupid, I was watching you fight and I let him get the drop on me. It was my fault he grabbed me.”

“No, no, I shouldn't have fought them.”

“Yes, you should have,” she said sharply, catching his gaze. She flicked her eyes toward the kitchen and then back at him. “I think it was really brave. The Triads have a chokehold on the city. They do whatever they want. Even the police are afraid of them. It's time someone stood up to them.”

 _If you only knew,_ he thought grimly.

“I didn't do a very good job,” he said as he stood. She followed, cradling the broken china in her hands.

“I still think it was brave,” she said with a shrug.

“Thanks,” he said as he went and retrieved the trash can. He tipped his pieces into the bin and she followed, wiping her hands down her green jacket. “Umm...where did you learn to fight like that?”

“Oh, I teach self-defense at a dojo around the corner. The Kyoshi Dojo?”

“Yeah, I know the one,” he said, picturing the green and gold painted building. She grinned and stuck out her hand.

“I'm Suki, by the way.”

“Zuko!” he said, awkwardly shaking her hand.

“I know, it's...it's on your name tag,” she said, pointing to the name tag pinned to the front of his apron. He looked down at it and then back up at her.

“Right...” he said lamely. “So, umm... Sorry about your oolong. I'll go make you another cup. It's on the house.”

She brightened at that, but then stopped and glanced at her watch. “I'll have to take a rain check on that. I'm going to be late for my class.”

“Right. Uh, next time?”

Her smile was shy as she picked up her gym bag and slung it over her shoulder. “Next time,” she agreed and headed toward the door. He stepped forward though.

“Uh, do you need me to walk you to the dojo? Those guys might be waiting on you.”

“Gallant, but I can take care of myself. I'm not afraid of them.”

“Still...”

“I'll be fine. I'll see you later.”

“Later.”

“Remember, you owe me some of those hot buns of yours,” she said cheekily, and then ducked out of the door, leaving him standing alone amid the broken china and overturned furniture. He felt heat flush his face and then stopped himself, shaking his head.

“I told you she was flirting with you,” his uncle said through the kitchen window, and Zuko immediately turned on him.

“How could you do it, Uncle? How could you stand to bend to them?” he demanded. “And don't try to sell me any of your proverbs!”

“Because, it's only a matter of time before you get into trouble with the Triads, running around with that mask on like you don't think I know about.”

He pressed his lips together, his jaw working. “I don't--”

“And you nearly gave us away, firebending like that!”

“I didn't firebend--”

“You nearly did. If they know a firebender is in the city, and they see this Blue Spirit firebending, then they're going to put two and two together and come after us! If they found out who you were...”

“Uncle--”

“I can't stop you from doing what you're doing, so all I can say is, if you take these men on, be careful.”

The surprise showed on Zuko's face and he met his uncle's gaze for a long moment. Iroh's eyes were deadly serious, full of concern, but resolve too.

Zuko nodded gravely at him. Iroh nodded back and then turned away, busying himself in the kitchen. Zuko sighed and grabbed the broom, plans already forming in his head.


End file.
